The Doctor's Sister
by HoodedWordsmith
Summary: Harriet Watson is looking for her brother after years of having absolutely no contact with him. Of course, the only man who knows about his whereabouts is no other than the supposedly dead Sherlock Holmes. Post-Reichenbach. Also, Harry had no known relationships before this.


Chapter One: A Rainy Day

Rain was pouring hard over the streets of London. Each droplet splattering on the pavement, each one splashing murky water over the back of the civilian's ankles and legs. Everyone else was rushing to get some shade and avoid the rain. People are hurrying to open their umbrellas to shield themselves from the cold water. Everyone except one.

A tall girl stood before a green door, squinting her eyes to read the address number better. _221 B_, it read. Her mouth formed a small smile and triumph was evident from her features. She straightened up and tugged on her short blonde hair, as if she was trying to look presentable even though she was very well soaked.

Her hand hovered over the doorbell, debating whether or not she should ring it. She hasn't seen John in years, what would should she say? What would _he_ say?

But before she could make a decision, the door abruptly opened. She yanked her hand back, her heart leaping in her throat in surprise.

"I'm still _not_ your housekeep-" The old lady who had opened the door stopped in mid-sentence as she caught sight of the drenched girl on her porch.

"My, child! What are you doing under the rain? You're all wet!" She spoke a bit too loudly with a mortified expression on her wrinkly face.

"I-I…wanted to see m-my brother… John Watson. Does he live here?" The girl stuttered, either from the rain or from nervousness, she couldn't tell herself.

"Did you say brother? You must be Harriet th- John? No, no, he moved out almost a year ago, dear. But right now, we need to get you out of the rain! Come in-"

"Do you know where he is now?" Harriet interjected, trying to mask the extreme disappointment that she felt.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, he didn't speak a word of it to me. But he did say some other things, we could talk about it inside. Perhaps you'd like some tea? Dry yourself up…" The old lady took a few steps, enough to reach her arm and pull her inside.

Harriet let herself be dragged away by the kind old woman. She found herself actually wanting to rest a bit. She searched for Baker street the whole afternoon, refusing to take a cab for the little money she had on her at the moment.

Her hair and clothes were dripping on the carpeted floor but the old woman didn't seem to mind. Harriet shrugged out of her coat and hung it on a coat rack which unbalanced immediately because of its weight.

"I'm Mrs. Hudson, by the way. I used to be John's landlady." Mrs. Hudson had disappeared from sight, probably preparing the tea.

"Thank you Mrs. Hudson. You're very hospitable." She commented while scanning the surroundings. It had a very gloomy aura, as if someone had recently died. She shook the thought away. "If it's not too much, would you mind if I borrowed a laptop?" She added.

"Oh dear. I'm too old for technology. However, my renter has one. Take the stairs and it's first room you'll see. He's a bit cranky though, you ought to be careful." She chuckled.

"Thank you, I'll remember to be polite!" Harriet dashed by the stairs, taking two steps at a time. Sure enough, there was a room directly above the stairs. The door was open and a silhouette of a man stood before a window, a violin in hand. He was playing a delicate piece, full of loneliness and longing. Harriet promised she would be polite but she seemed to have forgotten that. She knocked on the opened door a couple of times to get the man's attention.

The man turned slowly, or rather, irritably. She gasped when she glimpsed his face, not because he was handsome or hideous or anything associated with physical attributes, no. She gasped because what she saw was impossible and only the existence of ghosts could explain what her eyes saw.

She knew who he was, she read all about him in the newspapers. The story of his brilliance, his deductive mind, his partnership with her brother but most importantly, his death.

The man she saw was no other than the world's only consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes.

"Did anybody ever tell you never to disturb a man while playing his music, my dear Watson?"

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_Wee... what'd you think? Was that alright? It's my first time writing a Sherlock Holmes fanfiction, I hope that was alright. Review? _


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